Tales from Purgatory
by Provocateur
Summary: While residing in a world unrecognizable to them both, Snape tells Draco a long hidden secret of his past about the woman he loved, the tragedy he caused, and the price he must continue to pay. Post HBP
1. Chapter 1

**Tales from Purgatory**

**Chapter 1**

**A/N: Well, this is my first foray into a non-Phantom fandom. It's my first HP fic, so be merciful (but not _too_ merciful…). It'll be relatively short, 3-4 parts or so, and this will likely be the briefest chapter. It's highly theoretical and a little dark. All reviews are welcome.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own even the tiniest piece of the Harry Potter franchise that was created by the brilliant J.K. Rowling. This was written for fun, and I make no profit off of it.**

He remembered everything now. For the past 8 hours and 30 minutes, he had no time for memories; thoughts of yesterday had no place in the planning of tomorrow. Especially not when tomorrow was to be one of the darkest days of his life. Not his darkest, certainly, but black enough to warrant despair.

Despair.

His life was filled with nothing but despair in its many forms. Sadness, anger, fear, bitterness, rebellion, anguish, resignation, he had never known what it was like to be content. He had his moments of happiness, but they were flames too often snuffed out by the fingers of fate. His fate. Her fate. The fate of his savior, the fate of the boy before him.

Indeed, the fate of the pale young man in front of him was now in his hands. He had never truly wanted to be the ruler of a destiny not his own. He had said as much mere weeks ago, when he had humbled himself before the man he felt obliged to call his leader and asked – in a dry and flippant manner – that he be excused from his mission. He said his thoughts were straying from the cause, that he had lost the will to perform his duties to the best of his ability.

He was dismissed, as usual. He was shown once again the truth he always knew to be infallible – that no one was listening. No one really wanted to. Oddly enough, he thought he had stopped caring.

"Where are we Severus?"

There was that same poncy, upper-crust accent that his ears felt little disdain towards day after day. It was the voice of a spoiled, selfish child with no mind or voice of his own. He was no more than a mouthpiece for his outrageously arrogant father, which was a shame in a wizard with the potential for such a fertile intellect. That voice should have incited his wrath, but instead it sucked fragile strings of pity from his normally empty heart.

"In a world between Wizard and Muggle." Severus answered stiffly. "In a place where they will not find us until we are ready to found by the man who is certainly destined to uncover us."

"Snape, take me back…" That voice, so filled with smug confidence before, now shook with the uncertainty of a dependent child separated from his parents in Diagon Alley. He would allow the boy a reprieve, if only this once. He had, after all, been through quite a shock today.

"Where would you have me deliver you, Mr. Malfoy?" Snape let his posture falter slightly under the gravity of his words. They fell upon him heavily, like a great black cloud intent to rain on his greasy head exclusively. Such is the way of the world, it seemed.

There was nowhere to take his young charge. There was no home for him, no sanctuary that would contain the comforts to which he had grown accustomed. He pitied the boy, yes, but he also knew that he brought this upon himself when failing to do what he could never have dreamed of having the conviction or coldness to do.

"We can't stay here Prof…Severus," Draco's voice was trembling even as he fought hard to keep it steady. He was, at that moment, no more than a meager house-elf who had been kicked one too many times in too quick a succession, "there isn't anything here."

"We'll make do."

The boy's words were true. They were ensconced in what seemed to be an endless chamber of black and gray. No walls or ceilings could be seen, but the feeling of entrapment lingered. There was ground beneath their feet, warmth in the air, and slight sounds emanating from the eternal beyond surrounding them, but the world was devoid of familiarity.

_"It is but a new plane of existence Severus, a world of requirement, if you will…"_

Oh, how Snape wished he had listened more closely to the Headmaster's words that morning.

"Do you have your wand, Draco?" Snape asked.

The boy felt around frantically in his robes before his alarmed visage fell into relief.

"It's here."

"Good."

"Please tell me where we are…" Malfoy was pleading now. It was difficult to see a young man so full of fallacious strength crumble under the weight of fear and doubt, but it could only be expected. He was only a boy.

_"You will take him Severus, you will protect the wizard who cannot protect himself, and you will teach the man who cannot be taught. He will need you, he is only a boy."_

Snape bowed his head stiffly to Albus in memory.

"I don't know where we are, Draco."

"Then how…"

"Don't interrupt."

Malfoy obliged. Words often escape those who are drowning in their own confusion.

"I do not know where we are exactly, which is good. If I do not know, they do not know."

"Who is 'they'?" Snapped Draco.

"Everyone, Mr. Malfoy. You and I, it seems, have incurred the wrath of many people this night."

Draco paused before nodding. Snape looked at him thoughtfully, he truly looked terrible. His hair was tangled and dirty, his skin so pale and sickly that tiny blue veins could be seen near his temples. His collarbones jutted out harshly against the pristine fabric of his once impeccably clean robes. He had suffered much in so short a time, and his pain had manifested itself in his ailing health. Fighting a battle with one's self was never easy. The wounds were often deep, and they seldom ever healed.

"They all want to kill us, don't they, Severus?" Draco's voice was a mere whisper as he anxiously cracked his knuckles – a very _common_ and unpureblood thing to do. Wouldn't Lucius just want to hang himself with his own ass-grazing hair if he saw his Death Eater-in-training wringing his hands and cracking his knuckles like a nervous, elderly Muggle.

Snape was thoughtful for a moment.

"Yes, for now they do, but they will not find us. When they do, we will know what to say."

_Waiting is never easy, Severus, but neither is atoning for our actions of the past. It is doing what is not easy that gives us strength."_

"Whose side are we on, Severus?"

Snape was silent. Here was the temporary end of the journey, however indefinite. The battle raged at Hogwarts was over, the Headmaster was dead and the Dark Lord was recruiting steadily. He and Draco were alone in a world of their own necessity for now, and while they were there they needed to make the best of it. The "best," in this instance, would be to tell his fellow prisoner the story of how what came to be had come to be.

"It is not about sides, Mr. Malfoy," Snape began, "it is about self-preservation. You're a Slytherin, are you not? Surely is a concept you grasp."

"I haven't been feeling well-preserved as of late!" Draco swore silently under his breath and ran his hands through his hair, which seemed thinner and more unruly than it had the year prior. He massaged his neck roughly, as though he were half-inclined to attempt to strangle himself.

"Everything has gone wrong, Snape. So, so wrong…" His voice was wistful as it drifted off. Everything about him had seemed to fade, from the deep royal green of his robes to the flashing grey of his eyes. He seemed dull and weak.

"We do not fight for Albus Dumbledore, nor do we fight for the Dark Lord. We, or at least I, will fight to atone for something that happened many, many years ago."

"I'm a poor fighter, Professor." Draco's former blind confidence had grown as dull and listless as his eyes.

"You are young."

If it was comfort that Snape was required to offer, he could only do it with so much inhibition. He was not one to console others; it made him feel as though he was stepping too far out of his own skin.

"I've failed, I dreamed of becoming powerful. Then the time came to prove myself, and I didn't want power anymore. I wished I was dead."

The air grew heavy with tension, thick and unyielding. Only mere hours ago the sky was aflame with hexes. Blood-red curses were thrown through the air, aimed at scurrying witches and wizards who fired back in retaliation. No one ever knew that light could be so ugly, so threatening. Words that were spoken so fast that they sounded like nonsense polluted the silence with their brutality. Torture and death flew out of every wand, and there was nothing that could stop it. A battle was not won with words.

"I've been vomiting a lot, Severus. I vomited more this past week than I have in the past ten years of my life combined." Draco wiped his mouth rapidly, as if to erase his impulsive words and eradicate the taste of his fears.

Snape's lips curled upwards in a grimace, his eyes closing in frustration.

"Thank you for that, Mr. Malfoy."

The discussion of fear did not need to include the discussion of bodily functions.

An uncomfortable silence descended upon them. Draco sat down upon the ground that was hazy and uneven. His fingers caressed the landscape curiously, but he felt nothing unusual.

"Prof…Severus," Draco began, "what are you _atoning_ for, exactly?"

Snape noticed the sarcasm in Malfoy's voice and felt a mixture of irritation and relief. Irritation in being mocked in regards to the greatest tragedy of his life, and relief that some snarky immaturity was creeping back into Draco's hollowed shell.

"Do you really want to know, Mr. Malfoy?" Snape turned his back to the young wizard and straightened his robes thoughtfully. His face felt flushed and his breathing quickened. It was frightening to go grave-digging when the corpses of years past wanted so desperately to remain in peace. There was too much horror to be uncovered when that lid was opened, too much pain and anguish to face for a second time. The reality of life and death. Of pain and pleasure. Of promises and betrayal. Of Truth and deception.

"I think I need to know," Draco began, "wouldn't you say?"

Snape spun around swiftly and stalked towards the prone fallen Slytherin warrior. Draco backed up slightly when the toe of his Head of House's leather boot nearly touched his knee. The former Potions Master leaned over him slightly, his eyes narrowing into beady black slits as his lips drew together tightly. He had a great air of intimidating authority, even in his weakest moments.

He spoke softly, "I have a tale for you, one that you will find most… shocking."

Draco stared up at Snape, transfixed, frightened, and intrigued simultaneously.

"I'm listening."

"Are you?"

"I said I was."

"Good. Let us hope to Merlin that you hear what I have to say and think on it accordingly. What you will hear may horrify you to the very depths of your being, as witches and wizards of your upbringing often cannot stomach stories like the one I am about to tell you. At your age, I could have barely accepted it myself."

"Please, get on with it, we haven't got all…"

"Day, Draco?" Snape inquired dryly. "On the contrary, we have several days, perhaps more."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 **

**A/N: I just want to say thank you to everyone who has reviewed, I greatly appreciate it. It's quite daunting trying to write characters that are so well-known and loved (or hated), I can only hope I do them justice.**

**Just to clarify, in this chapter we are dealing with three different periods in time. They will be separated accordingly to avoid confusion.**

* * *

_She was a Mudblood. It was true; there was no use in denying it. She was tragically born with filthy, discoloured blood. Her veins were tangled and impure, tainted by the touch of Muggle mediocrity. _

_The spells that flitted out of her wand with the greatest of ease were not genuine; they were messy and unrefined to an observant eye. An eye that looked for perfection and talent knew that such things could not be created, but rather passed on from generations of natural superiority. Magic, like attractive skin, needed to come from an ancestor who possessed such a thing in abundance._

_Only a freak who somehow met with a strange turn of genetics inside of the womb could become what she became – and the idea that she became what she did with pride made him grind his teeth together until his jaw ached mercilessly._

_"How excited were you the day you received your letter, Lily Evans? How brightly did your freckly, pale face ignite when you learned that something about you was different and special? Did you celebrate being given a gift you never rightfully earned? Did you squeal and laugh like all the naïve do when life hands them opportunities that they do not deserve?"_

_Why did it hurt so much to tell her who and what she was? Why had that glare made his chest feel like it was being compressed to the point of asphyxiation? Was it guilt? Perhaps, she had tried to do him a noble service after all. _

_A proud good-will soldier she was, fighting the battles of the weak and helpless. Unfortunately he was neither, and thus her help was both unnecessary and unwelcome. _

_"Did you think me a laughable fool, Evans? Did you giggle not a little bit to yourself to see your bitter, greasy classmate hanging by his ankles in mid-air while enduring the mockery of the boy who will stop at nothing to get a rise out of you? Did you enjoy the brief shred of heroism you displayed at my expense? Did it make you feel righteous and powerful?"_

_The humiliation was never complete, and he found himself rather powerless to stop it from trampling him time and time again. In the Slytherin dungeon he was at peace, being left to amuse himself with books taken from the restricted section of the Hogwarts Library. He never become compelled to peruse the dangerous material that was slowly becoming an obsession until he began looking up to see the narrowed, plotting eyes of Black and Potter over breakfast. Their smirks, grins, and quiet whispers grew more and more threatening with each passing day._

_Whispers turned into words, which escalated into shouts that could be heard across the grounds._

_"Snivellus!" and " Greasy Git," became as common as traditional salutations, and his was growing weary of rolling his eyes and turning his back to the proud, amused voices of the Gryffindor princes. _

_Names were not unusual to him, unflattering as they may be. His home was filled with name-calling of some kind of another. Muggle words. "Whore" and "bitch" on weekdays, "cunt" on weekends. The more his father drank, the more his terminology worsened, and his mother would always listen to him with clenched fists and her eyes screwed shut. _

_Sometimes Severus would see her whisper to herself, her words a language that he could never decipher as a child. At her angriest and most desperate moments, furniture would rattle. He remembered the Muggle words and the trembling of the dishes, some of which would shudder enough to propel themselves off of the tables and onto the floors. The smashing of glass enraged his father. _

_As the years went on, the rattling ceased, as did the silent whispers. They had been replaced by cold stares and silence. _

_For fives years he had escaped the Muggle words and the coldness, but still it lingered on. Everything had changed and nothing had changed. He lived away from the words and the sadness of his parents, and he instead found himself enveloped in further undesirable entanglements._

_The words of his tormentors had become actions, and he tolerated them silently. Oh, he would throw a curse or two, but they were faster. He hated them for it. _

_He found himself agonizing not over his numerous mortifications at their hands, but over their supremacy. They defeated him every time, and as they gloried in their victory, a moralistic Mudblood tried to save him._

_So valiant was she who knew nothing of defeat._

_Why was he guilty over his true assessment of her character?_

_Even now, as he sat silently with a listing of various curses in his lap, he remembered her face when he spat out the name the Wizarding world had given to her kind. Her normally pleasant features crumbled into a look that combined both rage and pain. Her eyes narrowed with disdain and grew moist with hurt. Her shoulders slumped forward in resignation, and she left her brutish housemates to do their worse with him. _

_He was glad to see her go, to see her proud Mudblood head hanging low, as it should on Wizarding ground. She had no place at Hogwarts, and she certainly had no place demanding that he be set free. The words of wizards were not meant for the ears of half-breeds. Their battles were not hers, and her audacity to intercede disgusted him._

_"I know where you came from, Evans, I know what sort of barbarians bore and raised you. I know that you cannot be any better."_

_He hated her for the brief tinge of remorse that lingered in his chest and kept his concentration from his books._

* * *

Their world looked no different now that it had when they first arrived. Snape doubted that the blacks and grays that surrounded their bodies like a warm, dry mist would ever change.

He had never been one to appreciate the world of the living, he felt he was best suited to the indoors. This was very much like being trapped indoors for all eternity, only not. It was comparable to unending, misty cavern that was devoid of nature. It was not a frightening atmosphere, but rather a surreal one. It was his destination and his sanctuary while the battle raged on without him. This was a part of the journey, one of the final tests before the imminent denouement.

"You knew Potter's parents?" Draco casually examined his fingernails and grimaced in disgust at the unidentifiable filth that accumulated beneath them. He had no idea what he had been touching to mar them so significantly. He found he cared little.

"Unfortunately yes, I knew them rather well." Snape had sat down across from his unwilling companion, making sure to keep a modest distance between the two. It would not do well to coddle the boy or emphasize his need for protection. All recently hatched creatures look upon the new world with fear, and all of them must learn to stand upon their own shaking legs without the assistance of others. In time they learn to run and fight, and they do so by understanding the necessity of such actions.

"Potter's father bothered you," Draco scoffed, "if some git dared to hang me in the air for shits and giggles I would kill him and pretend it was an accident."

Snape's face grew hard. It was the hardness of a man who has aged twenty years in a matter of seconds.

"I did." His voice was ominously silent.

"You did what now?" Draco's head snapped up, the disbelief in his eyes comically exaggerated. His horror could not be disguised by a haughty grin or a scathing remark.

"I killed him." Snape's knuckles whitened as he clenched his fists together tightly. "I had him destroyed, and everyone thought it was an…unfortunate turn of events. Everyone blamed fate, not me."

Draco was silent for a moment, his eyes scanning the ground to avoid the indirect gaze of the man before him. The man who been transfigured from a bitter spy to a malicious murderer. Twice.

He should have admired him, praised him even. He wanted to, but the congratulatory remarks remain lodged in his throat like acidic bile. His mind consistently turned him into a mute.

Snape killed Potter's father? Impossible…

His father would have known if that was so, and his father had discussed the Potter's demise over many dinners with a deep sense of pride.

"Vol…_he _killed Potter senior. It's legend, my father…"

"We do need to utter the killing curse to determine who lives or dies, Draco."

* * *

_The night was cold, and the crowd was silent. They had been waiting for this night for what had seemed like an eternity. _

_This was their chance. This was their time. This was their calling._

_The forgotten would be remembered forever after tonight. Those ugly, greasy faces that were laughed at behind bookshelves and trees. Those quiet, trembling voices that were mocked behind closed doors. Those punished, ill-treated bodies that were hung in mid-air for the amusement of the golden children would have their revenge. They would have the attention of the world that cast them aside as weak._

_Who is worthless now?_

_Not us. _

_Not anymore._

_What would she say if she knew? She probably did know, but hadn't the courage to share her secret. Perhaps her disgust and disappointment made it far easier for her to pretend that he did not exist. That an animal such as he had never been born._

_He knew that was what she called them. Animals. Thoughtless, inhuman beings who needed the call of a master. _

"_Mindless," she had said. Witches and Wizards with no strength or character of their own, pathetic beings who banded together and rallied around a powerful figure because they felt powerless themselves. She had resorted to telling Muggle fables of sheep and wolves to illustrate her hatred towards the group that stood in the shadows, masked and awaiting a fight._

_She spoke like the Headmaster, and her words were ineffective. She knew nothing of duty or honor. Duty to your race, the honor of your blood. She had no concept of what it was to find a place in a world that was formerly hostile. In fact, in her blind and ignorant eyes, the world held no hostility at all. Until now, that is._

_She blames us._

_She scorns us._

_She loathes us._

_But she will not defeat us; our cause is greater than she._

_Isn't it?_

* * *

Snape looked upon the puzzled face of his companion. His eyes seemed glazed, unseeing of not only the physical world, but of the world as it existed in his own mind. He recognized the indifferent confusion, he had been there. He had spent endless nights trying to see the world through different eyes, but understanding never came. All he had was reality, and when his idealism ended it did not do so because of sudden enlightenment, it did so because of pain.

His life had been filled with pain of sorts, that was true, but never did he feel grief and anguish tear through his body so torturously as he did the night he realized the battle he fought was a vile, repulsive joke.

He could feel the burning and tearing of the cruciatus curse rip through his veins for hours – even days – at a time, and never would it compare to the moment of truth when the world as it's known to the beholder comes crashing down upon them with unbearable ferocity.

_For some of us Severus, realization comes from loss. When something is taken from us, our eyes open, and it's most terrible when we learn for the first time that they were closed."_

No matter how much Snape hated the man whose aphorisms would haunt him until his last breath, he could never dismiss the knowledge that in his need, Albus had always been there.

How gifted and good were those who saw gifts and goodness in people who had neither?

"You went to revels, Severus?" Draco inquired.

"Indeed I did, it was required of followers of the Dark Lord. I have been to many, and perhaps will be at another before my time here is through."

"Time where?"

"In this world."

Looking at Malfoy, Snape found himself rather perplexed to see the boys face remain stoic. Perhaps the child had been dealing with the possibility of death for too long now that the prospect failed to shock him. The thought of death always frightens the living, unless they feel that they cannot stop it. Or if they crave it. Perhaps the petulant, sheltered young wizard in front of him had considered both.

"Does that shock you, Mr. Malfoy?" Snape inquired silkily.

"You attending more revels?" Draco knitted his brows together thoughtfully. "No, I can never be shocked again."

"No," Snape began, "the idea of dying, the possibility that our lives are in great danger and there is a mission we must accomplish at great risk."

It may have been cruel, but it was best to gauge the boy's strengths now. No sense in sheltering him further, not after he brashly committed to accepting a mission he hadn't the will to complete without thought of his own limitations.

"I think that death might be merciful."

"Insightful, Malfoy. Death can be a blessing for some, I concur."

How tragedy corrupted the fragile, ignorant sensibilities of youth.

"Have you ever wished for it?" Draco asked silently, his hands dropping to fidget with his robes anxiously. He had never imagined his conversations with his professor would come to this, this meeting of confused and thoughtful minds. He never thought he would see the faithful Potions Master murder the pleading Headmaster either, but strange things happened these days.

"Have I wished for death?" Snape stood and smoothed his robes mechanically. "I will answer that when you better understand what might have given me such great hopelessness and despair."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**A/N: I should really, really be working on my major pop-culture essay that is due tomorrow, but this story has been on my mind all day and it's demanding to be written. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, I absolutely love receiving feedback.**

**Big thanks to my Beta, Le Chat Noir, for it is a dire task to wade through someone else's grammatical follies.**

* * *

_Her face was contorted into an expression of perplexity. Her hair hung in front of her eyes and forehead, the deep red a stark contrast to the paleness of her skin. He could make out the shadows of her lashes against her cheeks as she briefly shut her eyes and muttered silently to herself. She looked disheveled and out of sorts, which was both nauseating and charming. Paradoxical emotions were not unfamiliar to him, and he found that he invited the balance. _

_He saw the worst in people who thought themselves – unconsciously so – worthy of admiration. There was ugliness to be found in such beauty, and it was never too difficult to see. If one looked hard enough, all lovely surfaces would crumble and fade. Dilapidation does ruin a fine structure, he thought; it exposes it for what it truly is beneath the fictitious splendor that formerly incited admiration. _

_People are their foundations, not their paint and polish._

_Her eyes looked upon her cauldron with a critical air. She swept her hair behind her ear impatiently and rested her chin upon her hand. She was thinking quickly, but her frustration was growing more obvious. _

_Her potion was not turning into the deep forest green that Slughorn said it should. In fact, it was a rather murky, swampy colour at the moment. _

_She was considering stirring the substance counter-clockwise - he could tell by the way she hesitantly held her hand. Given the properties of the potion, doing such a thing would be a wise action. It was a rather thick substance, and various mixing techniques would liquefy the materials more swiftly. _

_She knew this, but she doubted herself. He could tell by her sideways glances at her book and the frown that would cross her features when she stared at the substance simmering before her._

_"Mudbloods lack instinct, it is a shame really." He mused. _

_He watched her face carefully beneath the cover his long, lanky hair. She was oblivious to his stare, which he knew she would find condescending and snarky. His stares rarely conveyed any other emotions. Her attention was focused solely on her potion, which was far beneath her usual standards. Whatever would the doting Professor say? Perhaps she might not even garner an invitation to the next meeting of brilliant minds and boastful social connections! Oh, the horror…_

_The room was growing loud with puzzled exclamations and flipping pages, Slughorn could be heard clearing his throat – a sign that the class was coming to an end within the next few minutes. _

_He could feel mild panic radiating from the flustered witch next to him._

_It was mildly empowering, and slightly off-putting._

_His hands moved of their own volition to push his open Potions textbook onto her desk. She glanced to the right of her see to see what object had made its way over to her without turning her head. Her eyes briefly scanned the well-worn parchment that was haphazardly decorated with various notes and anecdotes. Certain ingredients and methods had been crossed out and replaced with others in sloppy, childish script. _

_Reluctantly her fingers reached out to touch the parchment carefully, and her brows rose thoughtfully. She looked at him, but his eyes were on his cauldron while he made last-minute adjustments and checked the potion for the appropriate colour and viscosity._

_He could feel her staring. He imagined her green eyes were wide with shock, albeit the delighted kind. Was she biting the corner of her lip thoughtfully as she did when silently assessing the actions of others? _

_"Thanks." _

_It was a whisper, barely audible above the frantic voices of those whose potions were so badly conjured that they were best dumped before igniting a fire or poisoning the innards of those unfortunate enough to be within their vicinity._

_He watched her slender hands move with swift confidence as she followed her original intention to stir the mixture in a counter-clockwise motion. His notes had re-affirmed her original consensus, and he saw a glimmer of both satisfaction and pride cross her concentrated features. Later on she would question how he came upon such information as what was inscribed in the seemingly innocent, innocuous textbook. For now, she was simply relieved that her work was up to its usual standard._

"_Bring your potions up to the front, please!" Slughorn's hoarse voice barely penetrated the exasperated menagerie of disgruntled voices that echoed throughout the dungeon. Still, the shuffling began as leather-clad feet padded across the concrete towards the Professor's desk with their poor excuses for potions clasped in their sweaty hands. _

_He could feel her eyes on him again as she pushed his book towards him and began to pack away her own personal effects. Her puzzlement was understandable; he had called her a Mudblood just a week ago – when she tried to help him out of a humiliating ordeal, nonetheless. _

_Well, she could consider this non-characteristic gesture to be his reluctant "thank you." He resented her interference, but she didn't truly deserve the grave insult he bestowed upon her._

_Well, she did – as all Mudbloods do – but perhaps that moment was not the right time to speak ancient truths. She showed a modicum of nobility in his favor, and now he in turn saved her reputation as the most gifted Potion's student Hogwarts had to offer. Both had found themselves in a rather bothersome predicament, and both had now been "saved" by the one unaffected by such undesirable circumstances._

"_Fair is fair, is it not?"_

_He began to swiftly pack his things away and stood, handling his concoction carefully. It was perfect, and he had no desire to let even a single drop be lost. He waited until the saw the backs of Potter and Black darken the doorway before standing, he had no desire to be "accidentally" knocked off balance as one of them ripped through the room with the haughty arrogance that the staff and students seemed to adore so voraciously. _

_He hated cowering behind his desk as he awaited their departure, but there were few other options available. He was in no mood to hear their uproarious laughter as the contents of his labor dripped onto his second-hand robes. He had heard it before, and every time it became increasingly unbearable. _

_Besides, Evans did not need to see him pulling at his robes frantically as the liquid burned through his clothing. Such a spectacle would surely only bring out her reluctant good-natured chastisements, and she would certainly laugh about it later in the Gryffindor common room. He had lost two pairs of shoes and three robes to Potter's "clumsiness" in the past few years, and galleons were harder to come by for one of his regrettable social standing._

_Speaking of Evans, it was now her back that was darkening the doorway, but she turned to give the beaming Professor a bright smile and wave before exiting the room. It was such shameless showboating, very obnoxious indeed. _

_She had a lot to smile about because of him, and he knew that he should somehow find a way to remind her of that._

_He stepped away from his table, but stopped short when a neatly folded piece of parchment caught his eye. His name – as in his actual first name and not a surly nickname – graced the visible side of the paper in thick, black ink. _

_He set his potion down and opened the note swiftly._

"_Severus,_

_Thank you for letting me use your book, I really appreciate it!_

_Lily"_

_It was short and circumspect, a polite and formal show of gratitude. He folded it up as neatly as she had done and placed in his pocket carefully._

_He could never have known it then, but that was the moment when his life as he knew it began. _

* * *

The hours were passing slowly, as they often did when there was little to do. Boredom was detrimental to the mind, it made it idle and lazy, or cause it wander down dangerous terrain. Reflection was a painful, bothersome thing. The Headmaster disagreed with that notion, but he had been born with the innate ability – or talent – to rise above such trivial adversities as being consumed by the pain of years past. 

Snape was not nearly as lucky, and he could say with confidence that he had far more to regret than most people.

Draco looked excessively pale at this point. Indeed, horror does affect one's pallor. A follower he was, but stupid he was not. The young wizard was able to infer where this story was leading, and the thought of his proud, bitter Potions Master exchanging favors with a Mudblood was outside the realm of his comprehension.

It had been skewered into his skull from infancy that a Pure-Blood Slytherin must acquaint themselves only with Witches and Wizards of similar breeding. To defy convention was to invite disgrace, and that – for some – was a fate worse than death. A boy with Malfoy's inbred ideology would fear the social suicide incurred by associating with dirty-blooded infidels. Such a concept was comparable to fraternizing with animals – creatures lacking in civilization and decorum.

"You were friends with a Mudblood?" Draco nearly spat the word as he spoke it. He sounded just like his father, only more aghast and less repulsed than Lucius would have been. Young Malfoy preached his sire's principles, but his disgust did not reach as deeply into his core.

"I would not call two mild encounters 'friendship', no." Snape said dryly.

"You believed you owed her something? She was a Mudblood, she had no right to even _be _at Hogwarts!"

Prejudiced indignation was so nauseating in those who spoke it without true conviction. He would change: in time his illusions would shatter and he would look upon the trivial politics of status with a more discerning eye. He would learn that those with the cleanest, reddest blood could fall hard and fast, and that those with brown-tinged veins could rise above the greatest of obstacles and prove themselves worthy of admiration and respect.

He would learn to hide that admiration and mask it with a sneer, and he would learn to praise a cause that no longer appealed to him. In time he would learn that life was about dishonesty and self-sufficient motivation. He would learn that guilt, anguish, and obligation touched those who once thought themselves invincible.

"Mr. Malfoy, if I am to continue telling you this tale, you should refrain from using the term 'Mudblood' loosely or with great frequency." Snape's words were clipped and his delivery slow, he was never one to speak quickly when conveying a serious message.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"You surprise me, Severus."

"I surprise most people who are unfortunate enough to spend a great deal of time in my company."

"Well, if I am to be in your company for a long time," Draco began, "and I suspect I will -"

"Indeed." Snape added.

"Then I wont accuse you of sullying yourself with the Mother-Who-Didn't-Live."

Severus was silent. His lips parted slightly, but there were no words escaping. He could hear her again: that same voice that he heard for so many days during his youth. That voice that he could never allow himself to imagine fading out as her life was ripped from her body by use of those two words.

Did she scream? Cry? Yell out in horrified anguish?

The thought of sounds of pain emitting from her throat was almost too much to bear.

He had demanded that she be given the chance to live, and it had been in vain.

* * *

_"Will you spare the woman?"_

_The cruel eyes of his master looked down on him with dull fascination. The pub was crowded and hot, the smoke filled air masking the features of the carefully hooded figure before him. It was rather noisy as well, but the boisterous nature of their surroundings provided greater secrecy than a secluded setting. The Dark Lord always said that the best disguise was no disguise at all, as people were daft enough to believe that those who planned in secret worked in secret. _

_He had a sort of perverse brilliance, his Master._

"_Spare a Mudblood?" Voldemort was rather laconic and calm, and his reddened, serpentine eyes did not narrow or register shock at Snape's meek request._

_"I will take care of…"_

"_You wish to dispose of her yourself, Severus?" Voldemort questioned mildly, his long fingers running along the rim of his fire-whisky mug delicately. _

_Snape felt his stomach churn and his breath become short. He was mad, absolutely mad for making the request that he dared to make. Yet, he could never live with himself if he did not._

_"No, Master." He cleared his throat and coughed. "I think she would be an asset to our cause, she's very competent…"_

_"A Mudblood helpful to our cause?" The Dark Lord released what some may have called a scoff. Severus knew not what it was, but it didn't put him at ease._

_"She has great talents, and will use them in your favor if need be." Snape straightened his back and laid his palms flat against the table. It was best to show confidence in such matters, even though the wizard before him demanded subservience and reverence. _

_"Hmm, perhaps I will consider…"_

_Snape felt – much to his disdain – a great flush return to his sallow cheeks._

_"Yes?"_

"_If you keep the Mudblood under your control at all times and ensure that she will remain silent of her deplorable heritage and work with us accordingly, I will offer her life to her, in exchange for the boy."_

_Snape felt his heart sink to his bowels. No parent worth his or her salt sacrificed their child for themselves. _

_"She will refuse," Severus said flatly, his voice devoid of emotion. _

"_Do not doubt my powers of persuasion." _

_It was a demand, not advice._

_"Yes, My Lord." _

"_I will offer the woman her life, and should she accept, I will bring to her you as…a gift." Voldemort chose his words carefully, his lips turning upwards into a smug look of satisfaction._

_Snape was momentarily puzzled and eternally horrified to hear his request spoken in such crude terms._

"_A gift?"_

_"A lovely, pliable present in return for delivering the prophecy. You may do what you like with her, chain her to your person and make her crawl behind you on her hands and knees for all eternity with a gag in her filthy mouth if you so wish it. I am not averse to rewarding my loyal followers, in fact, loyalty is deserving of rewards just as betrayal is worthy of punishment. Would you not agree, Severus?" _

_"Yes, Master."_

_Thus far Snape's plan had been mostly successful. He knew that the Dark Lord would be more likely to grant him a request after accepting the duty of spy and bringing back valuable information. He had managed to convince Voldemort to concede without daring to make light of his contribution to the Death Eaters cause, and he took pride in his cleverness in doing so. _

_Still, he had hoped that the Dark Lord would simply take Lily back with him by force – without truly harming her. Providing her with an ultimatum would be futile: she was not one to allow the life of another to be taken for her own protection. Especially not the life of her very own child – the child he would secretly abhor for a plethora of reasons until his last breath. _

_If Lily were made to be his personal plaything, her hatred would be severe. Yet she would be alive, and near him, and even if she hated him with all of her heart and soul, she would remain healthy and living. A world with a hateful Lily was better than one with no Lily at all. _

_In time, she would come to understand, and she would appreciate his concern for her well-being. Merlin knew, he would be the only one who cared at all for her come the revolution. _

_She may have not been able to save him from what she perceived to be a deadly threat, but he could save her. Perhaps, should she end up back at his side, she would come to accept that. Perhaps, someday, she would embrace it._

_Or perhaps the cost was simply too great. _

"_I'm making a great sacrifice for your ungrateful arse, Ms. Evans," Severus thought to himself, "and I can only hope that you'll come to see that someday."_


	4. Chapter 4

**Tales from Purgatory: Chapter 4 **

**A/N: I'm sorry about the delay in updating, but life has been hectic. Thank you to all who have reviewed, I appreciate any and all feedback. In fact, reviews compel me write even faster – hint hint lol.**

**Thanks to my Beta Le Chat Noir for her sublime grammar and prose expertise!**

* * *

_"I think you will want to pay attention this hour!" Horace Slughorn's throaty voice reverberated throughout the dungeons. It was not a particularly subtle or pleasant voice, but it drew the student's attention to the front of the darkened room. Slight coughs, giggles, and whispers remained, but they slowly dissipated as the portly professor held a large iridescent beaker in front of his puffy face. The swirling purple liquid moved as though an invisible hand was stirring it effortlessly, and several students stared as the ripples cast a rotating silvery glow upon the ceiling._

_"A rather enchanting concoction, is it not?" Slughorn asked, a gentle smirk lifting his lips._

_The class murmured their agreement. _

_Snape scoffed. _

_Is it now fashionable to transform into a stupefied, drooling mongoloid at the sight of a sparkly potion? He wondered. _

"_Could anyone tell me what it does?" Slughorn placed the beaker on the table in front of him with reverential gentleness. _

_No hands were raised. Snape looked out of the corner of his eye to see if Evans had decided to valiantly rise to the occasion and hazard a guess, but she stood just as still as the rest of the class. Her eyes were on her textbook, and her eyebrow was raised slightly as she perused the guide for some answer as to what the mystery substance might be. If he were feeling particularly giving, he may have considered pushing his book onto her desk. Unfortunately he was in no such mood. _

"_No one?" asked Slughorn as he rocked back and forth on his heels, his hands clasped firmly behind his back. It was a rather unflattering position for a man of his girth, Snape mused. _

_The silence remained. No one knew that the rather attractive potion glittering in front of Slughorn was the highly coveted – and controversial – invisibility serum that had been developed over thirty years ago by a now jailed alchemist known as Mervin Ficklewood. He had indulged too frequently in his creations, and one witch too many had heard him lumbering clumsily out of her bedroom window after she finished bathing. _

_Such idiocy, thought Severus, to sneak into a woman's bath or bedroom while completely invisible and still get caught. _

_The potion - affectionately entitled "Wood Juice" by its wayward creator – was illegal for over a decade before the ban was appealed by the Ministry of Magic on the grounds that the potion could be beneficial in very special circumstances. The subsequent legalization took another two years. Bureaucracy was a rather long-winded process, after all. Ethical debates were often solved by weighing economic benefits, and such was case with Ficklewood's legacy. Eventually the potion – given the rather benign title "Invisibility Serum" – was available chiefly to Aurors. There was a great deal of papers that required pushing in order for one to receive the substance in the name of duty, but one could never underestimate the value of having friends in high places. _

_It seemed that Slughorn did, Snape considered._

_In fact, Snape once remembered that very man saying – with his head held high and a leather potions text clasped tightly to his chest like his personal manifesto – that "life was not about what you did, but about who you knew - and what they could do for you."_

_He laughed afterwards, his robust belly shaking with mirth. He was a giant weasel of a man, but stupid he was not. _

_Besides, Severus quite liked Slughorn in the same way that he liked several of his quieter housemates: unobtrusive, transparent, and relatively inoffensive. Hogwarts – disgustingly misguided institution though it was – could benefit from having more residents of the likes of Slughorn. How refreshing would a world filled with selfish miscreants be in comparison to one filled with blooming heroes who wore their pride and courage like golden badges of honor emblazoned across their pompous chests? Wouldn't it be lovely to live alongside witches and wizards who never troubled with masks of honesty and good intent? Those children of Merlin achieved greatness in both academics and reputation while silently pulverizing the peace of mind of others._

_Potter and Black. _

_Himself. _

_Such morbid, bitter irony._

_They were not so different, not really. He allowed his surliness and malcontent to manifest itself in his visage; they cloaked theirs in good humor and boyish disregard. They all harbored deep, unyielding hatred. They were aggressive, ruthless, and cruel in both action and spirit. Severus acknowledged his disposition, but no one – not even the two cretins of which he spoke – had the courage to see darkness in the souls of the others. Especially not when those "others" wore robes of red and gold. Royal colours, those were. Signifiers of bravery and heroism. _

_Covered from head to toe in robes of faded black, who was he? _

"_I shall hand you all a list of instructions!" Slughorn began. "Please find a partner for today's lesson: it is a little too advanced to do on your own – not to mention dangerous." Slughorn's grin widened. He might as well have winked with blatant hyperbole given his giddily cryptic tone, Snape thought._

_It made sense though, really. A man who dressed as garishly as the Potions Master would surely fail to comprehend the principle of subtlety – even it were to be so kind as to jump up and latch onto his portly bottom. _

"_I should warn you all now…"— Slughorn's voice lowered considerably, much like the voice of one divulging a damaging secret— "this concoction is very dangerous – even deadly – in the hands of one who cannot harness its power appropriately."_

_Several gasps and murmurs escaped the gaping mouths of the transfixed students._

"_What is it?" Black's rough voice barked out, causing the heads of the girls in front of him to swivel around with alarming rapidity. Several giggles erupted from the blushing, bobbing heads._

"_That I cannot tell you," Slughorn answered to groans of disappointment and pleas for reconsideration. He hushed the jeering crowd with a wave of his hands. _

"_But – yes, there is a but – if any of you successfully create this potion, I will allow you to sample some under the utmost secrecy. Will that do as a consolation?" he enquired sweetly._

_The students agreed, predictable creatures that they were. _

_Snape opened his book quietly, his black eyes scanning the weathered pages of the text for the ingredients and proper procedure involved in the production of the famed Invisibility Serum. _

_Ah, there it was! Page 294, right beside the rather chilling moving picture of a witch with her legs slowly disappearing as she poured the glittering concoction down her throat. It was the look on her face that gave the observer pause: one of complete and utter sinister satisfaction. She was to achieve the ultimate freedom. Her eyes were absolutely dancing with celebration, and her sneer became more pronounced as the contents of the beaker touched her lips and entered her fading body. _

"_Evans!" Snape felt himself shudder as Potter's voice assaulted his ears, the words sadistically painful. _

"_Evans, get over here." Potter called out once more. _

_Snape turned his body slightly to watch the messy-haired boy pat the seat beside him enthusiastically. _

_The red-haired girl looked at him with a scowl and shook her head._

"_Aww, come on. You do want to win, don't you?" Potter laughed at his own poor joke and smiled broadly, a slight plea showing itself in his eyes. _

_Snape could feel her eyes on him, and a strange heat coursed down his spine while she considered him. _

"_No James," Lily said, then sighed deeply. "I would rather not. Doing your own work might be good for you, I think," she replied curtly. _

_Snape felt his lips curl into a rather cruel grin at the way Potter's face seemed to fall, even as he pretended to remain aloof and amused. _

"_Besides, Severus doesn't have a partner." With that, she smiled broadly at the arrogant Quidditch king and turned back to her books. _

_Severus felt his pallid features begin to burn. He only hoped that his skin did not match the rich red of the Mudblood's pretty striped tie. It was hanging rather loose today, he noticed. The knot was resting against her chest, right beneath her finely protruding collarbones._

_No, he thought to himself. No, I have no desire to look at her neck or chest. She looks sloppy and disheveled. Unsightly even. _

"_Can I sit here?" Lily moved her chair closer to his own. Much closer, in fact._

"_If you must." Snape answered dryly. _

_He felt her stare a hole through his body as her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. She moved away, her chair scraping against the darkened concrete as she pulled it further from his side. _

_Rolling his eyes and silently – albeit with protest – allowing guilt to seep into his hardened resolve, he moved nearer to her. He bumped his seat awkwardly with his behind, which caused the protesting legs of the dilapidated piece of furniture to squeak – loudly – in distress. _

_Oh well, young wizards were not known for their grace, he thought. _

"_Here" he pushed the book towards her. "This might interest you."_

"_Ooh!" She gasped softly as her eyes rested upon the disappearing witch in the picture._

"_Severus, where did you get this book?" she whispered whilst carefully picking it up and bringing it close to her nose. Was she smelling the parchment?_

"_A family heirloom," he answered stiffly._

_She really was sniffing his book._

"_It smells so old!" he exclaimed. _

"_I suppose."_

"_You've never smelled it before?"_

"_No."_

"_I love the smell of old books. They remind me of this Mug-, this old restaurant that I go to with my father sometimes in the summer. The toilet is rather frightening, with it being at the end of this rather long, dark passage and such, but it has this very distinctive smell that is somehow…" She paused to search for a word. "Special, maybe?" _

_She thought his textbook smelled like a toilet? She found the smell of toilets nostalgic?_

"_I suppose," he responded. _

"_Hmm." She gingerly flipped the pages of the text while leaving her index finger on top of the page she was formerly perusing. "Smells always bring back old memories."_

_What a luxury it must have been to have pleasant memories to think upon._

"_Well," Snape began, "I seldom thrust my nose into book bindings in an attempt to recall my favourite toilet. If I ever do, you will be the first to know."_

"_Well Severus, anything sounds silly if you say it like that." Her tone was stern, but she was smiling. _

_He was pleased that they were working side-by-side as opposed to face-to-face. He felt more comfortable gazing at the flaming hair swept behind her ear, or her lips as she spoke. It was difficult to meet her eyes, uncomfortable almost. His skin seemed to burn at the mere thought of her jade eyes lifting to capture his own. She was so…expressive. He was so cold. _

"_It is imperative that we correctly brew this potion," he began stiffly. "Slughorn's instructions will be vague and general, but these,"— he pointed to his book — "are far more specific."_

_He turned to stalk towards the cabinet at the rear of the dungeons. With his back turned and his attention upon the dusty, torn labels on the stained bottles, her eyes could not attempt to meet his own. _

"_Let's begin." He frantically began sorting the substances and arranging them in front of him in that order that they would be used. _

"_Severus, isn't this potion illegal?" Lily whispered._

"_No, not at present."_

"_But it was –_

"_Yes, it was banned by the ministry for several years; it's now available to those with specific needs."_

"_How did he,"— Lily nodded her head at their wandering Potions Master— "get it?"_

"_Bribery or luck," Snape answered coolly. _

_She laughed lightly. His face burned again._

"_Well," she began, "I hope I never find out what he uses it for."_

_Severus envisioned an invisible Slughorn silently tip-toeing down the corridors at night on route to the Gryffindor tower. His hands would be rubbing together with excitement at the thought of the young, supple bodies of several of the –_

_No, he reminded himself again, no detestable thoughts today._

* * *

"Did you win?" Draco straightened his robes beneath his body and leaned back on his elbows, his expression an incomprehensible mixture of what appeared to be both boredom and intrigue.

"Indeed we did. Rather quickly too, seeing as we both had an affinity for such academics," Snape answered, his voice dry and his gaze far away.

It was the same. The air was still misty and black, the world closed in yet never-ending. It was a world of great duality. Dark and light, confining and vast, frightening and calming.

"She was just like Granger, wasn't she?" Malfoy questioned.

Snape paused. No, she was not like Hermione Granger. She was a woman with both brilliance and spirit, but something about her kept her divided, different. She was like no one he ever knew, or would ever know again. She was strong, dedicated, and had a tongue of flesh-dissolving acid. She had a great sense of humor and an appreciation for things that many overlooked: the smell of a book, or the creation of a bubbling, unidentifiable substance. Not to mention a hidden taste for danger.

She was filled with goodness. Too much, actually. Only the best of people died young, their lives snuffed out so that their talents and beauty could only be shared through the memories and tales of others.

Draco Malfoy would never know Lily Evans. He would never see her defend her friends, love an outcast, concoct a potion, or use carefully chosen words to tear into one insolent enough to offend her. He would never see her smile, hear her laugh, or listen to her share odd but poignant stories about things that few people took the time to acknowledge.

No, he would only know her through Snape's story. Lily Evans was only a memory now, her body long since disintegrated. It was one with the earth now, the soil dissolving her skin and growing around her as though she never existed. Once gone, always gone. The witch who had so much to give gave everything for nothing at all. He would never be able to ask her what her sacrifice was for, or if she knew that the child that she died for was damned regardless of her goodness.

The most terrible thing of all? Even if Draco were given the blessing of seeing such a witch as Lily cross his path, he would never appreciate her.

Lily Evans was no more, but Severus Snape awoke each and every morning as he always did. He lifted his starchy sheets off his body come sunrise each day because he had to. He greeted others with sneers and sarcasm. He spoke roughly, cruelly, and slept at night with a heavy heart. He lived for her. It killed him, for she was not there to know that. Everything he was now - everything he had become since she took her final breath while clutching her son in her arms - was what she made him. A spy, a soldier, a traitor to every cause.

He told the Headmaster that he would not fight with the witches and wizards who murdered her. The Headmaster gave him an ultimatum, one of repentance. He accepted. And now, he was here. And he would be for as long as it took.

"No Draco," Snape began, "she was like no one but herself."

"I see." Draco answered.

He didn't.

"So," young Malfoy continued, "what did you do with the serum?" A smile crept into the blonde boy's visage. His cool gray eyes seemed to come alive as images of what one could do while completely hidden from the eyes of others played behind his lids.

"That," Snape began, "is a very interesting story."


End file.
